Oh, Lord, I can forgive what’s done to me by them,
But better, a wild hawk, I would tear a lamb,
Or, a snake — sting the sleeping in the grasses,
Than to be man, and see what people masses
Do on the earth, and through the noxious shame
To not dare up my eyes to heavens’ pure flame.
О Боже, за себя я все могу простить,
Но лучше б ястребом ягненка мне когтить
Или змеей уснувших жалить в поле,
Чем человеком быть и видеть поневоле,
Что люди делают, и сквозь тлетворный срам
Не сметь поднять глаза к высоким небесам.
«The cold wind from a lagoon. / The silent coffins of gondolas. / I, in that night — so ill, and young so — / Had stretched myself against a lion. There on tower, with a song irony, / The giants tolls in that night hour. / Mark sank in the lagoon, all moonlit, / Iconostas, patterned...»
«There fades the boom of life, quite teasing, / And back is the affairs' tide. / But wind through a black velvet's singing / About the future and somewhere's life. Where shall I wake? In other country? / Not in this gloomy land, isn't it? / And won't I be just abundant / To recollect thi...»
«All on the earth will die — and youth and mother, / Wife will betray you, leave once faithful friend, / But you learn to enjoy the bliss another — / Look in a mirror of the polar land. Get on your bark, sail to the distant Pole / In walls of ice — and bit by bit forget / How they l...»
«I’m sick, for sure: deep darkness holds my heart, / I’m bored with the people and the stories, / And dream of treasures of the kingdoms, glories, / And yataghans, all covered with blood. It seems to me – and this is no fraud – / A Tartar, squint, was one of my begetters, / That fi...»